


sing for the year

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Modern Era, Reunions, Romance, Separations, Slow Burn, Travel, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: Arthur met Merlin on a cold day in June.There weren’t meant to be cold days in June, but it was fitting because Arthur wasn’t supposed to meet Merlin that day.





	sing for the year

**Author's Note:**

> Initial thought: This will be something short and succinct and stylistic and I will finally emulate that cool choppy, emotional style I see in fics sometimes.  
> Me, five hours later: Interesting thought, but had you considered being long-winded?
> 
> All of that aside, I do really, really like this one and had a great time writing it. I do get more stylistic than usual, but have sadly yet to find my sweet spot for succinctness. This is a combination of something I've wanted to write for ages with a new idea I had, and I'm always a big fan of knocking off early additions to my list of possible fics. Hope you all like it as much as I liked writing it!

**i.**

Arthur met Merlin on a cold day in June.

There weren’t meant to be cold days in June, but it was fitting because Arthur wasn’t supposed to meet Merlin that day.

It happened by accident, on a train in southern France. Arthur was sat by the window, looking at the rolling hills and all too aware of the passage of time, knowing he couldn’t keep this up forever, knowing the world wasn’t going to slow down or stop for him, that the future was all too narrow in front of him.

Arthur was twenty-two years old. The world was expansive, and he was a speck. A speck who had a ticking clock in his head, the limited time he had in the world before London and his father called him back home to a life of mundanity and simplicity.

Arthur spent twenty-two years feeling trapped in his own body when Merlin accidentally sat next to him on the train to Nice when he had been planning to try to get to Paris and said “I’m not quite sure this is where I’m supposed to be.”

**ii.**

Merlin had taken a lot of wrong trains in his life, Arthur would soon learn, and probably took many more after Arthur had to leave him.

But while Arthur was there, he kept Merlin’s time tables, kept him on schedule, kept him on the right track, because Merlin was going wherever Arthur was going.

“How are you affording this?” Arthur asked Merlin as they both laid on the beach in Nice. That day wasn’t cold; the sun was beating down on them as they soaked it up. Arthur soaking up the time more so than the sun.

Merlin, with his ratty backpack and ratty trainers and ratty jeans and brilliant smile, said “Oh, I do odd jobs here and there. Try to find places to sleep for free. I just try to charm everyone I’m around so they more willing to do my favors. Accept me back when I make the rounds again.”

“How long have you been traveling?” Arthur asked, a hitch of jealousy in his chest, but looking back, it was just awe at Merlin, his easy way, how he really could charm anyone, how he could make his life look however he pleased.

Merlin shrugged. “Off and on for a few years. I’ll go home to Wales and see my mother sometimes when I get low on cash. Work under the table at the inn she’s run since I was born instead of under the table somewhere else.”

Arthur smiled fleetingly, thinking of a small Merlin getting underfoot at a bed and breakfast in the Welsh countryside, and then begins to ache when he thinks of the empty, cold rooms in his father’s manor, rooms that were never used, never occupied, doors always shut.

“I have a year,” Arthur told him with a smile. “My father is rich as sin and I never took a gap year after A-levels, so this is it. He’s given me one year to get any flights of fancy out of my system, and then I start working for him. Family company. We take money from poor people and give it to rich people.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. If Merlin had a real job now, it would probably be as an activist for the underclass or working mothers or gay sex workers or saving the rainforests. Arthur sometimes entertained fantasies about what Merlin might be doing today, but they slipped through his fingers like sand.

“Sounds like you’ll have to have a really great year, then,” Merlin told him, a bit of a challenge in his voice, and Arthur grinned, a moment that wasn’t drenched in self-pity like so many of his moments back then.

“Guess I’ll have to.”

“You should have a guide,” Merlin said, his voice hesitant for the first time since the train, when he’d been so confused about where he was, like a lost little bird, but then again, it was Merlin, and Merlin always found his way. He was so sure-footed. “So that you don’t miss seeing anything important. Anything special.”

They’d met the day before, but Arthur was so quick to trust, badly wanted to trust him. It was a good thing it was Merlin who he’d put his trust in and not someone else. Merlin never disappointed him.

Arthur knew he was romanticizing it, all of these years later, but it was only because it was romantic. It was the only romantic thing that had ever happened to Arthur, the kind that left you woozy during and aching afterwards, knowing how impossibly precious it was, knowing how quickly it would end.

“I suppose I’d better,” Arthur told him, not being able to help from smiling. “For posterity’s sake.”

**iii.**

They traveled France, Merlin pulling bartending gigs from hostels and bars he’d been before, and gave Arthur half of his free drinks. They went to Barcelona and stayed with a severe looking woman named Nimueh who had a soft spot for Merlin and would make him breakfast in the morning while glaring at Arthur, who just helped himself to half of Merlin’s.

It was a whirlwind. Arthur knew people in nearly every country in Europe now. Berlin had the best clubbing. Budapest was the most stunning. He’d gotten high far too much in Amsterdam. He’d nearly broken his ankle in Switzerland, but Merlin had been there to make sure he hadn’t.

Merlin had been there to make sure Arthur experienced everything. He had already made friends in every corner of the world, or so it seemed. From staying with Nimueh in Barcelona came staying with Lance in Belgium, Gaius in Lisbon, Gwaine in Munich.

A few weeks before Christmas, Merlin asked him “Can I meet back up with you in January? I’d like to see my mother for the holidays. I thought maybe you’d like to go home, too. Unless…unless you wanted to…”

So Arthur spent Christmas at a bed and breakfast in Wales with Hunith, a real family Christmas where they opened presents on Christmas morning and Hunith, despite barely knowing him, filled a stocking with goodies for him, gushing “Oh, I’m just so pleased to have you here, Arthur.”

Merlin flashed Arthur a little guilty smile, and Arthur knew Merlin must have told her about his father, his coldness, his blank fury, his endless expectations.

Arthur had told Merlin all these things late at night, as he laid on the couch and Merlin the floor, or in adjoining beds in a hostel, or drunk after a night out, whispered in his ear, because he thought Merlin should know, know and understand. Merlin always understood.

**iv.**

It was New Year’s Eve at Gwaine’s place in Munich, littered with Merlin’s friends who were now also Arthur’s friends, everyone a little tipsy and counting down to midnight together, and Merlin smiled brightly at Arthur from across the room, when Arthur found himself caring far more about the nervous pumping of his heart and the fact that he only had five more months left of this whirlwind tour of the world.

He crossed the room and kissed Merlin and midnight and Merlin kissed back.

“It feels kind of like I’m running,” Merlin told Arthur later that night, quietly, as their bodies folded around one another in bed like they were always meant to be doing this. “And I’m not sure what from. Or what I’m running to. All I know is that I never really fit in. Never wanted to stay anywhere. Stay in one place. But I like staying with you. I feel like…I’ve gotten better since I knew you. Gotten more stable, more reliable. I never really had to answer to anyone before, but now all I think about is you.”

Arthur kissed him in response, not knowing what else to do, feeling every word pierce under his armor, the words echoing around him.

He never wanted to leave Merlin. But he knew May was fast approaching. London was fast approaching. The end to this dream was fast approaching.

The piercing of Uther’s steely gaze, more than anything, was the rush of time that scared Arthur most.

**v.**

April was spent in Italy. Italy was Arthur’s favorite place they’d been, so of course, Merlin said, they would have to end in Italy.

When Arthur walked the streets of Rome, he thought of what it would be like to stay forever. When he was here, he wanted to write a novel. Write a poetry collection. Write down exactly how this felt, exactly the way Merlin smiled at him, so he’d have it forever.

He wanted to find work as a waiter. A bartender. Something simple that let him talk to people. He liked bartending, he’d done it more than once with Merlin at his side, laughing at him as he tried to describe how to mix the drinks, and Arthur had caught on so quickly.

When Merlin kissed him, he could forget for a moment that this was the end. That he’d be back in his ordinary life this time next week, that he was done making his own choices and doing what he pleased.

“Where will you go?” Arthur asked Merlin. They held hands as they walked, Merlin squeezing his a little too tightly, but Arthur didn’t mind.

“I’d like to see you off,” Merlin said, voice shaking slightly, which made Arthur’s chest crack. “But after that…I don’t know.”

There was a lump in Arthur’s throat. “You’ll be fine without me. You’ll go on having a grand adventure while I’m…”

He found he couldn’t continue, and when he looked at Merlin, there were tears in his eyes that he was clearly trying to blink away before Arthur could see them.

“I’d ask you to stay with me,” Merlin said quietly after a moment, “but I don’t think you would.”

“I’d ask you to come with me,” Arthur said a little helplessly in reply, “but I don’t think you would.”

Merlin smiled at him, but there was something so bone-crushingly miserable about it that Arthur had to blink back a few of his own tears. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything, Arthur. This past year. I want you to know that.”

“Me neither,” Arthur said, words never truer. “I…I’ll always look back on this as…as the happiest time of my life.”

Merlin nodded, choking up, and Arthur knew he meant _me too_.

“We’re going to over-romanticize this when we’re forty,” Arthur laughed, somehow already seeing his future. “Pretend it was perfect.”

“Oh, you were far too arrogant and supercilious for this to be perfect,” Merlin said with an eye-roll.

“And you were too flighty and irresponsible,” Arthur shot back, though without any bite. “We would argue about money….”

“We would argue about your future career,” Merlin continued, “and my lack of education or ambition. Don’t forget train schedules. We argued about train schedules _constantly.”_

 _“_ We would argue about everything,” Arthur said too fondly. And they would. Without bite, without malice, they would argue about anything in the world until they were red in the face, but then laugh over it a moment later and get a drink and cheers to their own good fortune to have someone to argue with about the most inane bullshit.

“Try to be happy, Arthur,” Merlin stopped in the street to brush Arthur’s hair out of his eyes. “Working for your father or not, marrying some socialite or not...Whatever you do, try to be happy.”

Arthur knew the plan for him when he got back. The company was only part of it. The socialite was the other half. An heiress for a wife. The continuation of his family name. A gaggle of blonde-haired, blue-eyed children might be the one thing to finally appease his father.

A man was out of the question, no matter who he was, but a vagabond traveler without a degree and without any credentials, that was a universe away from Uther’s plans.

“You be happy, too,” Arthur felt his throat closing up. “Can’t have you pining for me from continents away. That would be just too terribly romantic. And we’re not romantic people.”

“No,” Merlin shook his head. “We’re both pragmatists and realists who see the world as it is and who know far better than to do anything silly like that.”

He looked as if he could cry again, and Arthur quickly said “I will miss you. And I think…I think I’ll always love you. Just a little.”

“Well, we’re not romantics,” Merlin’s eyes watered. “But something terribly romantic did happen to us, so I’d say we’re justified in that. In loving each other. As long as it’s just a little. Something we can only think about – oh, once a month.”

“Once a month,” Arthur nodded as if he were closing a business deal.

“Second Saturday of every month,” Merlin added with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Around six in the evening. Six in England, I can make the adjustment wherever I am. That’s the only time we’ll think of each other.”

“That’s terribly romantic,” Arthur couldn’t help but pull Merlin close to him, standing on the street in full view of the tourists milling around them, but he had to memorize this. Every second of this.

“At least we’re not saying goodbye in Paris,” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s shoulder. “I think the sheer romance of that would make us spontaneously combust.”

Arthur laughed, never more aware of the seconds ticking by.

Arthur knew that Merlin had no phone, no social media, no Internet presence in the slightest, and that was probably his saving grace in the first few weeks back in England. He had no way of knowing where Merlin was, what he was doing, who he was with, if he was thinking of Arthur.

Arthur had pressed his phone number into Merlin’s hands in the airport, saying to call in case of an emergency, but they both knew he never would.

A clean break. That was the only way Arthur was going to survive this and come back to the life he needed to live.

“I hope you’ve gotten everything out of your system,” were Uther’s first words to him when Arthur arrived back home to his shiny new company position. His office was just down the hall from his father’s, for maximum shouting possibilities. “From now on, you are a fully grown man with commitment and responsibility to this company and to your family name. I expect you to fulfill your duties as both a manager of this company and as my son, from this day forward.”

“Of course, Father,” Arthur said in response, just like he always did. “Anything you need.”

His half-sister, Morgana, on the other hand, had a different approach to his return. “Looks like you had a lot of sex.”

Arthur’s ears burned from embarrassment as he scowled at Morgana, the only person alive who could really understand his position, since she was Uther’s only other child. They both knew what it was like to wither under his control.

“None of your business,” Arthur sniped at her.

“Well, Father will have you married off to some harpy soon enough,” Morgana said with a flap of her hand. “He’s planning a Christmas wedding for me with one of his dreadful associates. I think I’ll have to fight this one.”

She and Arthur knew which fights to pick and which to let go. Working for Uther was non-negotiable, but sometimes, they could get him to let other things slide. At least for a short while.

That was how Arthur got his year away. A fight he’d chosen to pick.

The best fight he’d chosen to pick.

He couldn’t fight the marriage one. Not for long.

**vii.**

Arthur ended up fighting Uther’s first attempt after Morgana successfully got out of her marriage plot. Uther wanted to pair him off with Vivian, a shrew with a lot of money to her name, but Arthur figured he’d fight it out until Uther forced someone on him that he could actually tolerate.

Uther had shouted himself hoarse, but had relented with the reminder that Morgana was yet unmarried, and wasn’t that the more important goal here?

He hated throwing his sister under the bus like that, but Morgana would forgive him for it.

She pushed Uther even further after the next marriage debacle where he tried to get her to marry Leon, the sweetest, kindest, and gayest person Arthur had ever known. Morgana managed to convince Uther that she was more valuable to the company if she was unmarried and with no children, that no self-respecting career woman would get married until she was thirty.

So Morgana wouldn’t have to be married until then, and Arthur, one year younger than her, was in a similar dilemma. For as soon as she married, Uther’s hawk-like gaze would turn to him.

Today, though, Arthur was still twenty-seven. Still had two years to go.

And still endlessly lonely.

And still thinking of Merlin every second Saturday, wondering where he’d been off to, what he’d been doing these past four years. If he was happy. If he’d found someone else.

The thought made Arthur ache.

“I hear you’re responsible for me not having to marry your sister,” Leon told Arthur at the pub one night with a quiet laugh. Leon had always been the nicest of the men who worked for Arthur’s father, the most respectable, someone who similarly wished that he could be somewhere else but felt an obligation to be there due to his family name. “Thank you. Perhaps I can stave off my own mother’s plans for my wedding a bit longer. Or forever.”

“You’ll remain a bachelor?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Man after my own heart.”

Leon smiled at him, but there was something different about it this time. “You know I’d rather marry a man, Arthur. Surely you’ve figured that out.”

They were the only two members of the company left in the bar that evening. Arthur knew because he checked. This wasn’t the kind of thing that one discussed in mixed company.

“Me too,” Arthur admitted quietly, half to himself.

Leon sighed, clinking their bottles together. “I’m so sorry. My mother might understand – after plenty of time and dubious amounts of wine coolers. But your father –”

Arthur cut him off by kissing him. He didn’t even think about it, which was the most worrying thing of all. Arthur thought before he so much as brushed his teeth in the morning. He knew as he kissed him how out of character it was, but decided he didn’t fucking care anymore.

Leon kissed back, just for a moment, before guiding Arthur’s face away gently. “Arthur –”

“Sorry,” Arthur said weakly, shame filtering back into his system. “I just haven’t kissed anyone in so long. Let alone…”

Merlin, really, had been the last one. The last one that meant anything, at least.

“I’m sorry,” Leon squeezed Arthur’s shoulder, and he actually sounded it. “I’m seeing someone, Arthur.”

“Shame,” Arthur said with a little laugh. “I mean, Uther thinks you’re good enough for my sister, so if I stand a chance with any man, it’s probably you.”

Leon kissed Arthur on the forehead as he stood about, and Arthur both loved and hated the show of gentle affection. “You’re like a brother to me, Arthur. You would’ve been if I’d married your sister. We should spend more time together, but not – not like that.”

“I know,” Arthur admitted with a morose sigh as he downed the rest of his drink. “Thanks, Leon. You’re a good sport. I didn’t mean to –”

“You’re just lonely,” Leon said, eyes seeing right through Arthur. “We all are. Just a bit.”

Arthur broke his own rule and thought of Merlin on a Wednesday. Not just a fleeting thought. Not a thought by association. A real one. A long one.

Arthur cried for the first time in more than a year.

That night, he went to a club and took a man home with him.

**viii.**

Arthur was passing a Waterstones on the street one chilly June day when he saw a book in the window that caught his eye.

Or, rather, a name.

 _Thrice Departed by Merlin Emrys_ with a picture of a dragon breathing fire on the cover.

Arthur ran in, meeting at the office be damned, and bought it without a second thought, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

It was a supernatural crime thriller, because of course Merlin couldn’t pick a genre. It was about a private investigator who discovered a hoard of dragon eggs that were going to be destroyed, and he had to get them to the only dragons left on earth. A race against the clock.

Arthur read it straight through that night, finding pieces of Merlin everywhere. His laughing jibes. The way he rambled on when he got enthusiastic about something. The exquisite details of the places across the world that the private investigator had to travel.

Arthur saw pieces of himself, too, or perhaps he was just reading into it too much. But the way the bank teller lifted his eyebrows, the supercilious nature of the private investigator’s sister, the childishness of the last dragonlord, the description of a sunrise in Rome on the day a dragon is born.

Arthur couldn’t help but to force himself to read the flap.

The picture of Merlin was a new one. He had more stubble than Arthur remembered, his hair shaggier around his ears.

_Merlin Emrys is a Welsh-born author, photographer, traveler, dragon-lover, and all-around irritator to all. This is his first novel._

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.

He also couldn’t help but check the internet for information – still no social media presence, the novel not successful enough for a Wikipedia page beyond a few sparse details, just generally good reviews for the book and no information about where Merlin was today.

It was for the best, Arthur reasoned with himself. He was lucky enough to get this.

There was one review Arthur especially loved.

_The book might be fantastical in premise, but it is rooted in a sensible, pragmatic, reality –but the romance and flights of fancy are just bubbling underneath the surface, forever threatening to take the narrative into their own hands. This precarious balance is what makes the novel shine, and nothing is more satisfying than when the wondrous wins out._

Every second Saturday, Arthur reread the book and tried to find more kernels, more details, more gold, more _Merlin_.

**ix.**

It was when Morgana got married.

That’s when everything came to a head.

Uther said over their monthly family dinner in his most thunderous voice, “Morgana, you’re nearly thirty years old, and you cannot possibly expect me to put this off any further, especially with all of the acquisitions from friends of the family about how much their sons would love a chance to court you. I’ve decided that you’re to see Kay Livingston this weekend at his estate. Your nuptials will be this winter. I will not take no for an answer this time, Morgana. If Kay is unsuitable, there are other men. But you _will_ be married by the New Year, is that clear?”

Arthur braced himself.

Morgana’s face remained mild. “I agree. I will be married by the New Year.”

Uther blinked, clearly not expecting for Morgana to acquiesce so suddenly. Arthur blinked at her, willing her to explain her sudden change of heart, but she just smiled softly at him.

“That’s excellent news,” Uther said in wonder after a moment, clapping his hands together. Arthur had never seen him so excited. He was practically beaming. “Kay’s family –”

“Oh, I won’t be marrying Kay,” Morgana casually ate a bite of her ham as Arthur and Uther exchanged a mystified look, perhaps the first time they’d been on the same side in years. “I’ll be marrying my fiancée. Her name is Guinevere. Will that be suitable?”

Uther’s fork clattered to the ground. Arthur’s heart seized up. Why had Morgana never told him –?

“ _Guinevere_ ,” Uther said, dangerously slowly. “And what makes you think that I’ll –”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll anything,” Morgana said, voice still calm and collected, even perhaps a bit vindictive. “If you threaten to fire me, cut me off, disown me – I don’t care. I have my own money, and am perfectly capable of getting another job. And I don’t need the name Pendragon. I’ll take hers.”

Uther was silent, growing more and more purple in the face. Arthur held his breath.

“You insolent little girl,” Uther said, chuckling darkly under his breath. Arthur chanced a look at Morgana, not knowing where this was going. “You’ve really got me in a corner, don’t you?”

Morgana blinked at him, unmoving in her stature. “The wedding is in September. Expect an invitation sometime next month, but make no mistake, the wedding will happen regardless of what you decide.”

Morgana rose from the table, elegant and regal as a queen, and walked out of the house.

Arthur looked at his father, still laughing almost manically, and followed her out.

**x.**

Morgana married Gwen in the countryside when the leaves were falling down around them. Gwen wore a shimmering white dress that fell to her ankles and Morgana wore a lace dress to her knee with a black suit jacket over it.

Uther was not in attendance, but Arthur walked Morgana down the aisle instead.

He did all of the things Uther would’ve done if he were a better, more decent man, including dancing with Morgana while Gwen danced with her father at the reception.

“I’m sorry again about not telling you,” Morgana smiled, resting her head on Arthur’s shoulder, the most affectionate she’d been in years. “Though to be fair, you never told me about your gay foreign adventures, so I’d say we’re even.”

Morgana and Arthur had had a few talks, shouts, and eventually laughs over what they felt they needed to keep from each other, but it all seemed okay, here in the reception hall, Morgana beaming with a ring on her finger, her wife the most wonderful woman Arthur had ever met.

 “It’s different,” Arthur said quietly, the band playing a song that Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was slow, sweet, and a little sad. It was probably about the passage of time. “That was years ago.”

“Still,” Morgana said, “now that you know Uther won’t fire you, will you at least consider coming out to him?”

Arthur’s stomach turned at the idea, though not as much as it would have a year ago. Uther hadn’t fired, cut off, or disowned Morgana. He hadn’t accepted her. He wasn’t here today. But Morgana was still a part of the family, still expected at family functions, still a viable part of the company and of Uther’s heart, if he had one.

“You have Gwen,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “It made sense for you. And she would’ve taken care of you if…I won’t have that.”

“You would,” Morgana studied him carefully, “if you put yourself out there. Tried dating someone for a change.”

“I…I don’t want to,” Arthur said, the realization heavy on his heart. “The thought makes me ill. All I want to do is go back in time and stay there forever, that year I had with…him.”

“Life doesn’t mean anything if you stay in one place,” Morgana said softly, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder. “The change is what makes it beautiful. And you know you can’t go back. All you can do is go forward. I think you should find him.”

“It’s been five years –”

“So don’t waste any more time,” Morgana said just as the final chords of the song ended and they parted, her squeezing his hand as she went to rejoin her wife, who put a happy arm around her, smiling, nuzzling into her neck.

Gwen and Morgana were happy, Arthur thought to himself. Truly happy. Despite everything.

It was the first Saturday of October, but he thought of Merlin all the same, and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t be that far from Hunith’s inn. Merlin was almost assuredly not there, but if he wanted to know, then surely his mother would –

The thoughts didn’t stop, not like they usually did when Arthur thought haphazardly of finding Merlin, entertaining half-mad, altogether too romantic fantasies of reuniting. They kept going.

Arthur kissed Morgana and Gwen goodbye at the end of the night and started driving.

He remembered the way, even all these years later, but then again Arthur had always been good with facts and figures. He remembered the name, the street it was on, the way the lights looked in the windows that Christmas Eve night when Merlin had taken him down to the village to go ice-skating.

He passed through the silent streets of Ealdor just before midnight. He wondered if there would be anyone at the desk. If it would Hunith. If she would recognize him after all this time.

If Merlin was visiting home.

He found the place after minimal searching, the lights in the windows looking ever the same, looking like the home Arthur had never had. He thought of Christmas stockings and Merlin’s too-small bed and Hunith’s smile.

God. He didn’t even know if Merlin still thought of him, if he kept up the ritual of the second Saturday, if he was married or had children or any of that.

But Morgana was right, the longer he waited, the likelier it would be that Merlin slipped away from him.

Arthur turned off his car, and headed for the front door.

There was a girl at the desk, dark-haired and small, but had to be at least in her mid-twenties, and she smiled up at Arthur gently.

“Looking for a room for the night?” She asked him pleasantly, and after initial hesitation, Arthur nodded.

“Lucky for you, it’s our slower season,” she said with a little wink. Her name tag read _Freya._ Arthur wondered if she’d ever met Merlin. “I can get you one of our smaller rooms if that’s alright?”

Again, Arthur nodded. “That would be great. I…uh…does Hunith still own this place? Hunith Emrys?”

Freya smiled and nodded. “Oh, Hunith’s always ran this place. For almost thirty years now. Have you stayed here before? We give discounts to returning guests.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “Oh, no, nothing like that. Well, I have. Not as a paying customer. I…I’m a friend of her son.”

It was true enough, and it made Freya’s face split into a wide smile. “Oh, Merlin! He’s such a dear, isn’t he? He comes down every few months. Hunith’s working on making him move back to Wales, but just between you and me, I doubt he will. If he comes back to UK, he’ll surely go to London, but he seems happy enough in Paris.”

Paris, Arthur thought with a little smile. Paris suited Merlin. Settling down didn’t, but settling down in Paris was probably as close as Merlin could come. The cobbled streets, all of those people, the rush of it all…He could almost see Merlin there, sipping coffee while he read a paperback.

The two of them had been in Paris together twice. Once during their first month together, because Merlin had he had to have the grand tour of Paris, fuck whatever he’d seen there before, and then once after they were together, because they had to see if the City of Love was really all it was cracked up to be.

Arthur dragged Merlin to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and Merlin called him a walking cliché.

“Is Hunith here…?” Arthur made himself ask instead of losing himself in the memories.

“She’s asleep, but she’ll be serving breakfast bright and early tomorrow,” Freya said, and that was good enough for Arthur.

**xi.**

Hunith’s face split into a huge smile the moment she saw Arthur come down the stairs.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it would be you, Arthur!” She put down the syrup she’d been holding, abandoned the other guests who were milling around with their breakfast plates, and rushed to embrace him.

Arthur hugged back tightly. He couldn’t believe she remembered him, let alone that she would be excited to see him.

“Merlin has so many friends from all over that stop by to say hello,” Hunith said, brushing imaginary lint off of Arthur’s shoulders, “so I wasn’t sure who it would be. But this is such a treat! I don’t think I’ve seen you since…oh, five Christmases ago? That was such a lovely holiday. How have you been, dear? Still traveling?”

Arthur forced a laugh. “Oh, no. I’ve been living in London. Working for my father.”

Hunith smiled a little sadly as if she could see right through him. “Yes. I think Merlin mentioned that.”

Arthur’s heart stuttered a little at the thought of Merlin talking about him with his mother. “How…how is he? I haven’t seen him since…well. It’s been a long time. I read his book –”

“Wasn’t that lovely?” Hunith sighed, a faraway look in her eye. “He was in a slump for a long time, but finally finishing that book did him some real good. He’s got his degree now – Literature, of course. He waited five years to go to university and then finished in three. Typical of him.”

“In Paris?” Arthur asked, affection growing in his chest the more Hunith spoke. “Freya mentioned –”

“Oh, yes,” Hunith said. “He still travels, of course. Constantly. Especially now that he’s in graduate school and working on his thesis and has more time.”

“That’s so great to hear,” Arthur said honestly, heart thumping in his chest at the idea of saying literally anything else. “Is he – is he happy?”

Hunith smiled warmly at him, but there was something a little bittersweet. “More now than he has been recently. But I think he’d love to see you again.”

“Really?” Arthur might’ve stopped breathing, but only for half a second.

Hunith nodded, her face bright with hope. “He hasn’t ever brought anyone home. Not before you and not since you. I think it would do him some good to see you again. And since from the sounds of it, you came to Wales in the middle of the night just to talk to little old me, I think it would do him some good, too.”

“Can I have his phone number? Or address?” Arthur asked, breath short, and Hunith rolled her eyes.

“He’s still such a technophobe – I swear, he wants to be living in the seventeenth century somewhere, so no phone. He has an email address for school that he never checks that I can give you, but if you wanted to really see him in person…”

“I do,” Arthur said, shocked at his own forcefulness.

Hunith squeezed Arthur’s shoulder, her smile wide enough to burst. “Merlin isn’t surprised by much. But I think seeing you again would really do him in.”

Arthur hoped that that would be a good thing.

**xii.**

Merlin lived above a bookstore now, because of course he did.

It was a bit much to get used to the idea of Merlin living anywhere, staying put, paying rent. He wondered how much else had changed about him, if he was still disorganized and irreverent and made corny jokes and all of the other things about Merlin that Arthur missed.

Arthur had countless sick days he could use. It would’ve been so, so easy just to call in sick and come back to work on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Instead, he sent in his letter of resignation, bought a one-way ticket to Paris, and turned off his phone.

If Merlin rejected him, for whatever reason, he could come back to London and get a new job. A different one. One that wasn’t with his father.

Even if he couldn’t be with Merlin, he still needed to change. To be something different. Something more like himself.

He read Merlin’s book again on the way to Paris, hoping beyond hope that he would at least talk to Arthur, even if nothing else came of it. He needed to see Merlin after all this time and apologize.

No, not apologize. That was much less important than thanking him.

It was easy to get lost in memories as he tried to find where Merlin lived. He could remember being here, walking with Merlin, holding his hand, laughing harder than he had in his entire life. They’d been cliché tourists and gotten gelato and macaroons and shoved them in each other’s mouths like wedding cake.

The bookstore below Merlin’s flat was dinky and rickety and tiny and carried mainly French books, but it was warm and friendly and welcoming. Arthur couldn’t help but let himself page through the titles, quietly appreciating the beauty of this little place on a hidden away street.

“A-Arthur?”

Arthur’s heart nearly stopped when he whirled around to see Merlin standing there gaping at him. Arthur’s eyes raked over him; he looked ever the same and yet so different. The years weren’t evident on his face; he looked as young as ever, though his slight beard added a year or two on. His ears weren’t as prominent, hidden by hair and by his beanie. He’d filled out even more, his shoulders broad and wide, and though still skinny, had a more well-fed look to him that was probably a result in living in one place for more than a few weeks at a time.

Arthur became all too aware that Merlin’s eyes were heavy on him, probably making his own assessments about how Arthur had changed, how much was the same. Arthur swallowed painfully.

“Hey,” Arthur said, and it sounded more like a croak than anything. He quickly cleared his throat, and held out the copy of Merlin’s book that he’d brought along, hands suddenly sweaty. “Wanna sign my copy?”

Merlin looked at him in amazement, and his mouth looked like it was trying to work out what it was supposed to do with itself before he finally, brilliantly, smiled. “You read it?”

“About five times now,” Arthur admitted, feeling the color on his cheeks. “Second Saturday of every month since June.”

“You still….?” Merlin blinked at him, and he didn’t sound upset. He sounded like he still did, too.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, not knowing what else he could say, his mouth going dry and mind going blank.

“Me too," Merlin said, a little breathless, and Arthur's heart soared. "How'd you know I was here?"

“Your mum,” Arthur said, a little shamefacedly. “I didn’t know who else to ask. She said you got a degree…”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, a little smile on his face. “Started not too long after we…”

Arthur could see him swallow, and had to look at the ground for a moment to regain his composure. “Why’d you choose Paris?”

Merlin chuckled softly. “I chose it on a whim. I’d been so many places, I couldn’t choose a favorite. And every place…well…reminded me of you. Just a bit.”

“I missed you,” Arthur said before he lost his nerve, taking a hesitant step closer. A guarded look passed over Merlin’s face that made Arthur thought he would step back, but instead he surged forward, and then they were hugging.

“Missed you too,” Merlin said, squeezing tightly, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Which was fair, as Arthur couldn’t quite believe it either.

They broke apart and Merlin started laughing a little shakily. “Well, I’ll sign your book if you really want.”

Smiling, Arthur handed it to him. Merlin crossed the small space to behind the shop’s front desk to grab a pen.

“So you work here, too?” Arthur asked, following him, taking it all in, the way Merlin smiled, the way he moved the pen, the casual way he sat in the spindly chair.

“Yeah,” Merlin said smiling softly. “It’s enjoyable and pretty convenient seeing as how I live upstairs. The owners are sweet and give me good hours. Lots of time to write. I never thought I’d like staying in one place this long, but I really do like it here.”

“I’m glad,” Arthur said sincerely, recognizing glimmers of his Merlin underneath, the subtle longing mixed with this newer, more settled Merlin that Arthur thought he could grow to adore equally.

“What about you?” Merlin said, tearing his eyes away from the book in his hands. “How’s working for your father?”

Arthur swallowed, knowing that saying it out loud would suddenly make it real. “I quit,” he said, suddenly in a rush to get it out. Merlin’s eyebrows went up.

“That’s…that’s _great_ , Arthur,” Merlin said sincerely, his eyes soft on Arthur’s own. “I worried about you wasting away there. What are you doing now?”

This, however, would be a bit harder to say. Arthur’s eyes shifted around the shop for a moment before he said “I, ah, quit today, actually. So…seeing you is what I’m doing right now.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open, his fingers going slack as the book fell into his lap. “… _oh_.”

“My sister got married yesterday,” Arthur said, swallowing a little painfully, willing himself to get all of this out now. “To a woman. She’d never even told me she was…until she was getting married. But she was so happy. And I just… _wasn’t_. And I knew that the longer I waited, the harder it would be to come see you.”

“Oh,” Merlin repeated, his eyes wider than Arthur had ever seen them, face growing pale. But he didn’t look upset or angry or disappointed. “Wow.”

“I know it’s been a long time, and I understand if you – if you don’t feel the same way about me anymore,” Arthur said, a little miserable at the thought. “But I just had to come see you. I – I was right back then, that I’d always think of being with you as the happiest time of my life. And God, I don’t know if it’ll be the same, if we’ll still have anything in common –”

“We didn’t have anything in common to start with before, either,” Merlin said faintly, though there was color coming back into his cheeks, a teasing jibe behind his words. “Other than being young and arrogant.”

“I’m less arrogant now,” Arthur said with a little smile, “or so my sister tells me.”

“Me too,” Merlin said, the smile mirrored on his face. “I’m a little more responsible now, if that helps. A little less flighty.”

“I’m still a pragmatist,” Arthur said, though suddenly reconsidered. “Or at least I was until yesterday.”

“This is terribly romantic,” Merlin bit his lip, looking up at Arthur with such a familiar look in his eye. “We really have to stop doing that.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Arthur admitted, one of the most honest things he’d ever said. “My life was miserable before I met you and miserable after I left you. I’d much rather be a romantic.”

“You’ve obviously gotten more candid, too,” Merlin rose to his feet, handing Arthur back his book with an affectionate look on his face. “So what did you think of the book?”

“I loved it,” Arthur said, not even pretending otherwise. “I don’t know if it’s a good book by literary standards, being a businessman and all. The writing might be shit for all I know. But it sounded like you.”

Merlin blushed, red creeping up to his ears. “Flatterer.”

“I’ve never been a flatterer a day in my life and you know it,” Arthur teased him, and they both laughed, at the comment and the situation they were in all at once. Arthur broke off, the anxiety in his chest still steady. “So…so what do you want to do?”

Merlin looked at him for a moment. Just looked, with clear eyes and a bright smile. “Well, when my shift’s over, I’d like to take you out for coffee and see what happens. Though I’d also really like to fall in love with you again if that’s alright.”

Merlin’s blasé, irreverent tone mixed with deep affection twisted at Arthur’s gut in both a pleasant and painful way.

“I thought you might be angry with me,” Arthur admitted, though he couldn’t stop smiling. “For leaving.”

“Oh, I was,” Merlin rolled his eyes, just a bit. “But it wasn’t like I ever tried to get you back. You’re the one who – who had the courage to…”

“That’s something else that’s changed,” Arthur said, never more sure of anything. “I’m not a coward anymore.”

“You were never a coward,” Merlin said, voice firm but loving. “You were just…young and arrogant. Like I was. We both had our plans, everything else be damned.”

“We should’ve stayed in Rome,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “Open up a hostel for weary travelers or something. Or just kept traveling together. I know you wanted me to…”

“Or I could’ve come back to London with you,” Merlin said, voice present and faraway all at once. “And helped you face your father. I’ve been so lost for so long, and staying in one place has helped, but it was never the same without you. I’ve never found anyone like you. So let’s – let’s not have regrets. Let’s focus on getting coffee and see what happens next.”

Merlin reached out to take Arthur’s hand in his, a comfortable and familiar weight. He squeezed, and Arthur squeezed back.

“Did you ever read the dedication of my book?” Merlin asked softly. Arthur, a bit puzzled by the change of topic, turned the page of the dedication. He could’ve sworn he read it before –

_To all of the countries in the world and all of the people in them – especially the ones I love the most._

“That was mainly directed at you,” Merlin said with a quiet laugh as Arthur’s heart threatened to burst from outside his chest. “I just knew if I wrote down your name, it would make you real again, and I didn’t know if I could handle that. But I was always thinking of you. I’m so glad you’re real again, Arthur.”

Arthur thought that he would probably never love Merlin more than in that moment.

That was a foolish thought, of course. Arthur would love Merlin more the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that.

It was arrogant of him to think that. Ridiculous, even.

But incredibly romantic.


End file.
